Royal Revels (15 page)

“Explains why Humphreys didn’t know,” Pronto answered, stifling a yawn.

“Yes, but it doesn’t explain how Lady Gilham did know.”

“Maybe she don’t know,” Pronto suggested.

“She knew all right. She twitted me about it this morning before I knew myself. If the word had gotten around town, Humphreys would have known. Gilham claims to have virtually no callers,” Belami said, frowning at the wall.

“Who would have known outside of yourself?” Pronto asked, sensing some importance attached to this detail. No doubt there would be some deducing going on before long.

“George Smythe,” Belami said, a little smile curving his lips.

“Aye, the duchess must have let him know; you mentioned he called on her this afternoon.”

“She sent him a note. Is it possible Smythe knows Lady Gilham?” he asked, his eyes alight with curiosity.

“Don’t see how he could if she never has any callers.”

“Oh, she has callers. She had one the first evening I visited her. She shuffled him out the front door while her servant kept me busy. He wore York tan gloves with the finger out and a curled beaver with a well-worn nap. Not Smythe’s—his English-made gloves are in good repair, also his hat.’’

“Lots of men have gloves with a finger out. I have myself. Must get a new pair,” Pronto said. “Matter of fact, old Captain Stack’s gloves are out at the tips.”

“So I noticed. I suppose the same can be said for twenty percent of the population, but I shall bear it in mind
quand-même
.”

“Eh?”

“I’ll bear it in mind all the same.’’

“Oh. Well, I’m for a blood and thunder and the feather tick. How about you?”

“I’ll go home. I have to speak to Réal and see who Lady Gilham entertained this evening.”

“Wasn’t Smythe—he’s at the prince’s Pavilion. And it wasn’t Stack. He was here.”

“Réal will inform me. He is an excellent spy,” Belami said confidently, and unfolded his lithe body from the chair.

Réal came from Lower Canada and claimed a great fondness for snow and cold. As there was a brisk breeze blowing a flurry of flakes through the black night air, Belami wasn’t surprised to spot Réal out for a stroll. He stopped the carriage and got out to accompany his henchman.

“Is anyone minding the house on North Street, Réal?” he asked, falling into step beside Réal.

“Darby, from ten tonight to one in the morning. Me, I took the importanter daylight shift, for not to be seen.”

“I thought you’d prefer the chillier temperatures of the nightwatch,” Belami said, joking him.

“I go for the stroll along the beach to cool off,” Réal explained, undoing his coat buttons to let the wind whip against his jacket. “The spying, she is very dull. Madame has no visitors all the day long excepting yourself and Twitch, with a letter.”

Twitch was Belami’s own servant, who had delivered the note setting up the assignation for the next night. “What’s the setup on the back door?”

“There is the fence in back, with an alley from the front. To use the back door, it is necessary to trespass across her rear neighbor’s yard. I was happy to see the large dog in that neighbor’s backyard. There is no one using the back door, except he goes in by the alley, visible from the front. I, Pierre Réal, am keeping the sharp eyes on these things for you, milord.”

“You're a pearl beyond price, Pierre. Now do up that jacket before you come down with pneumonia.”

Pierre removed his gloves and fanned his face. When Belami hastened up the walk to his own house, Réal turned his frozen toes toward the beach, but scooted into the stable as soon as he saw Belami was safely beyond watching him.

Chapter Ten

Even in winter, Brighton blossomed into gaiety when the Prince Regent was in residence at his Pavilion. The next morning his liveried footman was delivering gold-edged cards of invitation to an impromptu little soiree arranged for that same evening. The duchess was
aux anges
to receive hers. Deirdre was also pleasantly excited to anticipate a party. She had visions of dancing with Belami in that elaborate fairy castle thus far seen only from the outside.

“The dear man, he’s acknowledged my card with a handwritten note,” the duchess crooned. “I shall put this away with my mementos—my insurance policy and the rental agreements for the London apartment houses. This soirée is certainly in our honor, Deirdre. I wonder if his wind band is here. I do hope His Highness can be persuaded to sing a little for us—so much easier on a body than a dancing party.”

Deirdre hoped her chaperone would be disappointed. To submit unwitting guests to Prinney’s indifferent serenading seemed a hard fate. She was eager to learn whether Dick had received a card, but felt fairly sure he must have, as indeed he had.

He felt more concern than joy at the honor as it conflicted with his assignation with Lady Gilham. Within the space of an hour, Belami received another card. It was an invitation from the duchess summoning him to dinner before the party.

That she had bothered to send around a formal card suggested that he was not to be the only guest. He drove over that morning to deliver his acceptance in person and found Pronto already ensconced, looking as guilty as a fox in the chicken coop to be caught in his illicit wooing.

“Just came to answer the invitation in person,” he explained to Dick. “You know how I hate to set pen to paper. Tried it—made a terrible blotch. Fell into a passion with the pen and smashed it to smithereens. Can’t answer an invitation without a pen.”

“All is forgiven,” Belami said, patting his hand gently while he smiled at Deirdre across the room.

“Everyone is coming,” the duchess crowed. “Mr. Smythe, too, has accepted. I’ve asked Lady Donwin to fill in the table. You recall asking me for an old friend of Mrs. Fitzherbert, Belami. I have come up with Lady Donwin, an old Brighton resident. She might be able to give you some help with that ring business tonight.”

This news took the edge from Belami’s ire at learning Mr. Smythe was being put forward so noticeably. He gave Pronto a commanding eye, which meant Pronto was to engage the hostess in conversation, thereby allowing him a moment with Deirdre.

“I’ve been studying up on Mark Antony,” Pronto said, shifting his head toward the duchess.

Deirdre turned to Belami. “Isn’t it exciting, a party at the Royal Pavilion? I hope there’s some dancing this evening.”

“There’ll be plenty to see at least. Your maiden trip to Xanadu, isn’t it?” he asked, then remembered to cough into his handkerchief.

“Xanadu?” she asked in perplexity. It was really shocking how even a well-educated girl like Deirdre knew so little of poetry.

He explained the allusion to her, again coughing when he had finished. She took more note of the cough than of the talk about Mr. Coleridge’s poem. “I do hope you aren’t coming down with something, Dick,” she said, worried.

“I’ll be all right. It’s these winter sea breezes that are to blame.”

“Oh, please, don’t get sick, not today!” she pleaded. He saw that the party meant a great deal to her and felt miserable at the deception he was perpetrating. He considered putting Lady Gilham off till tomorrow, but time was pressing at his back. He could postpone the meeting with Gilham till eleven, and at least attend the duchess’s party and leave the Royal Pavilion a little early.

“I’ll be there if I have to come on a litter,” he promised.

“No, not if you’re truly feeling unwell,” she told him with a look that begged to be assured.

Later she asked, “Have you settled with Lady Gilham? Have you seen her again?”

This touchy issue was sidestepped. “We’re putting her off for the moment, hoping she lowers her price.”

“You haven’t been back to see her?” she asked pointedly, her clear gray eyes holding his.

“I had to deliver the message that the prince wouldn’t meet her price,” he explained defensively.

“You could have written her a note.”

“It was better to go in person,” he said. The lift of his chin implied that the matter was closed, but he did hate the deception.

“I see,’’ she answered curtly and looked away. After a prolonged silence, she turned back and found him staring at her.

“You’ve got to trust me,’’ he said simply. ‘‘It’s difficult enough never being able to talk to you alone, without having you think I’m doing something I oughtn’t to when I’m not with you, Deirdre.”

“She’s very pretty” was her answer.

“She’s nothing to me. I wouldn’t give her a moment’s thought if it weren’t for getting back the letters from Prinney. She’s just a nuisance, that’s all,” he said impatiently.

Oh, but she had once been only a nuisance to him too. She knew well what could develop from an enforced proximity.

She looked at his arrogant, handsome face and was amazed, as she always was, that Belami could be attracted to her. He was known for his high flyers, always the prettiest, wildest, most expensive women. But here he was, with her, knuckling under to her aunt’s impossibly strict code.

“I know. I trust you, Dick,” she said shyly.

He felt like a slayer of infants. While Pronto explained the shenanigans of Mark Antony and Cleopatra to the duchess, he lifted Deirdre’s hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. They discussed Pronto’s trip to London to see the Wyckertons for a few moments.

“All it proved is that George Smythe didn’t leave England with Alex Smythe, but that doesn’t mean the deal wasn’t arranged in England before they left,” he explained.

“Practically a wasted trip for Pronto,” she said.

“The more facts we know, the better. You can’t deduce without facts. My usual method of working hardly applies in this case. The motive we know—money. The opportunity seems to exist well enough, so it is the method that preoccupies me. McMahon has sent a messenger off to Mrs. Fitzherbert, but it will take an age for him to get back. I hope something breaks before then.”

Deirdre nodded, and into the silence the mumbling voice of Pronto was heard. “And then she dumped Caesar and took up with Mark Antony. A regular dasher, by Jove. As bad as the Wilsons,” he finished.

“I hardly think that that is a story to repeat in polite company, Mr. Pilgrim!” the duchess exclaimed. “As for Harriet Wilson, I’m sure I don’t know what all the gentlemen see in that ugly piece of goods. Who has got her under his protection these days?” she went on to ask, more interested in a live courtesan than in a dead queen.

Belami turned back to Deirdre. “Since Smythe hasn’t got a carriage, I’ll deliver him here this evening,” he told her.

“Why?” she asked, instantly suspicious. “Pronto could do it.”

“To please your aunt, my dear,” he answered reasonably. “And because I want an excuse to get into his room at the inn. Maybe it will put your aunt in a happy enough mood to let you drive out with me now.”

“What’s that you say, Belami?” the duchess called to him. “Go out with Deirdre and leave me here all alone?”

“Pronto will remain with you,” Belami told her without daring to look at his friend. The puff of annoyance that greeted this suggestion made that gentleman’s feelings clear enough without looking.

“I suppose we can give them half an hour, eh, Mr. Pilgrim? What do you say? Shall we pass the time with a hand of écarté?” she asked, reaching for the deck.

Pronto grasped it and checked the backs. They were not elaborately embellished. Not that it mattered. The duchess’s trick was to keep a few face cards up her sleeve.

When Deirdre was handed into Belami’s carriage, she felt happily excited to be alone with him. “Where shall we go? Let’s go down to the sea and walk along the Esplanade,” she suggested.

“Wouldn’t you prefer to go over to Russell Square?” he asked, some mischief gleaming in his dark eyes.

“I didn’t know there was a Russell Square in Brighton. Where is it?” she asked, suspecting some trick or treat had been arranged for her amusement.

“It’s not far, and if I’m not mistaken it was the address on Lady Donwin’s card, which was on the table,” he answered.

“We’ll be seeing her this evening. Is she a special friend of yours?”

“Not at all, but my mama knows her. Bertie knows everybody. I wish she were here—she could tell me all the details about Fitzherbert and Prinney. I’m hoping Lady Donwin can fill in some gaps.”

“You mean it’s business,” Deirdre said accusingly.

“Business before pleasure,” he said conciliatingly, but took the precaution of indulging mostly in pleasure as the carriage was driven west to Russell Square. Lady Donwin was at home, and after Belami introduced himself, she received him with pleasure. She was fiftyish and fashionable with dark hair tipped with silver wings at the temples.

“How is your mama, dear Bertie?” she asked.

“The same as ever. Ramshackle and bubble-brained and utterly captivating,” he answered.

“It runs in the family,” the lady replied, running a practiced eye over Bertie’s son. Odd how he had got the dark looks of his papa and Bertie’s charm to alleviate that Belami dourness. She welcomed Deirdre and mentioned her joy at the unexpectedness of being called to dinner that evening.

She served coffee and biscuits, and before the first cup was half empty, Belami had steered the talk around to Mrs. Fitzherbert. “She was a good friend of yours in those old days, I believe I’ve heard Bertie say,” he mentioned after the infamous name had been introduced.

“Not in London. I’d as soon lose the last tooth in my head as live in London, but when she moved down to be near the prince, we became quite close.”

She went on to recount some anecdotes about various outings she had had with Maria and her beau.

“I suppose he was very generous to her,” he mentioned.

“If you call six thousand a year generous,” Lady Donwin said curtly.

“I wasn’t speaking about her settlement. Before they broke up, was my meaning,” he corrected.

“She had her fair share of jewelry, but the half of it had to be returned, you must know. It was official stuff, not truly belonging to him.”

“The prince was mentioning some little gold-domed ring he had given her—a sort of pre-engagement ring, I believe. It held a lock of his hair,” Belami said, as though it were a mere passing thought.