Royal Revels (26 page)

“It was my pleasure, sir. It would ill befit yourself to be involved in such goings-on, but I own I enjoyed the encounter. There is the charm of novelty in associating with people of that nature,” Belami said as he must say something.

“Aye, the charm of novelty! You’ve hit it dead on. That was the lure they held to me. There is some liveliness in mongrels that no man with blood in his veins can quite ignore, but when it comes to the succession, it is blue blood that is wanted, what? I have appointed Sir Richard Croft to handle my daughter’s next accouchement. He feels confident he can bring the matter to fruition. Lady Hertford was kind enough to bring Croft to my attention. A sweet note I have had from her today. And now it is time to deal with another matter, I think?” he asked with a roguish twinkle in his gray eyes.

“If you refer to any sort of reward for myself, sir, I assure it is not necessary.”

A sausage of a finger was waggled before Belami’s eyes. “We have heard from a little bird that whilst you disentangled myself, your own
amours
have not prospered, my dear Belami. We insist on having a hand in the matter.” As he spoke, the hand pressed a white square card at him.

Glancing at it, Belami saw it was an invitation to a party at the Pavilion that same night. He had not hoped for the royal hand to move so publicly, but he accepted it with every appearance of gratification.

“If it takes a royal decree, Belami, she shall be yours before my little soirée becomes history,” he promised, with one of his most benevolent smiles.

“You are too kind to involve yourself in such a picayune matter,” Belami said, embarrassed by the man’s coy manner.

“Love is never a picayune matter, Belami. Not to the principals at any rate. What do you think of this jacket my tailor has rigged up for me to wear this evening? Do you think the white satin too farouche for an intimate do?” he asked, almost in the same breath.

The jacket was handed to Belami, and the embellishments and decorations explained, while the perspiration trickled down Belami’s spine, for the room was an inferno, as usual.

After vivid and mendacious praise of the jacket, Belami escaped the room and went home to sit alone in an armchair and think. The afternoon seemed as long as a Russian night. What if the Prince’s interference was taken amiss by the duchess? She had an odd kick in her gallop, never reacting quite as one expected. The matter of Smythe, for instance. She was the last person in the country he thought would support his claim. And if she utterly forbade the match, he couldn’t ask Deirdre to bolt for the border.

Maybe Bertie could be of some help... He thought of his mother and wished that at least she were here to comfort him. He missed Bertie so. It was that sort of an afternoon, that kind of a mood he was in: disconsolate, half dreading the night, yet eager to attend and learn the worst.

He was as fussy as a deb in arranging his hair that night, brushing it forward in the stylish Brutus do. He spoiled half a dozen cravats before achieving the perfection of the Oriental and debated two minutes before selecting a diamond stud for it. While he dressed, he wondered who would have the chore of accompanying the duchess and Deirdre to the party. Pronto had dropped in and told Belami he was invited, but he hadn’t been asked to escort the ladies.

And in the little cottage behind Castle Inn, the duchess felt honored indeed to consider that the Prince Regent’s own carriage would come for her. Prinney would not be inside it, but he had come in person to deliver the card. It must have cost his sensitivities something to reenter those doors once hallowed by Marie Fitzherbert’s presence, but he was such a gentleman he showed no sign of it.

“Another party so soon? You are doing us proud, sir,” the duchess said. “Is there a special reason for it?” The reason in her mind was that perhaps Lady Hertford had landed in on him, for she knew from Pronto that Fitzherbert was not here after all.

“Indeed there is. I shall be honoring a very special friend,” he confided, winking and nodding, but held his secret.

Between pique at Belami, delight at anticipating another party at the Pavilion, and eagerness to get to London and be the first to have hard news of the goings-on in Brighton, the duchess had more than enough to occupy her small mind.

But in the usual contrary way of things, just when she didn’t need it, another item of some consequence turned up to amuse her. She received a letter from her majordomo at Fernvale, her country home, reminding her that her brother, a very wealthy octogenarian with no heirs of his own, was about to celebrate his eighty-fifth birthday.

She needed no reminding that he might stick his fork into the wall any day, and it was her bounden duty to be in on the death, to encourage him to dispose of his estate in the proper fashion; viz, to name herself as the heiress. There was an ominous tone to the vague missive that upset her to no small degree.

While her brother had no sons, he had nephews aplenty, and amongst them was a certain Sir Nevil Ryder who would move heaven and bend earth to steal the estate from her. There was talk of the family planning a celebration for her brother and, worst of all, a hint that “a certain other party” had also cropped up of late in her brother’s conversation. No name was given, or needed, to tell her this was her brother’s ex-mistress, or wife, or whatever she had been. She knew perfectly well ‘‘wife” was the proper word but refused to attach it to an actress.

A fever began building in her to dart home and take matters in hand. Her mind flew to Belami, who would be an inestimable aid in arranging the affair to her satisfaction, but how to ask him after the little falling-out of last night?

She made the generous decision that she would not cut Belami dead that evening as she had originally intended. No, she would offer very cold congratulations on his successful completion of the task that had brought them here. Given an inch, the encroaching scoundrel would take a league and be at her door the next morning.

It was a perfectly wretched party. In his joy, the prince felt stout enough to sing for an hour. There was no dancing, no decent conversation, and no sit-down dinner. Had the host been anyone other than who he was, the party would have been called bluntly “a crashing bore.” As Prinney was the host, it was termed “not one of his livelier do’s.”

There was some hope for improvement when the champagne glasses were passed around and the guests were urged to form themselves in a circle around the host to hear a joyful announcement. Everyone knew it would not mention the rescue from his latest scrape. That was a secret known only to every soul present, but not to be whispered within hearing of Prinney. The duchess wondered if, by chance, Princess Caroline had come sprinting home from Italy, and poor Prinney was having to smile and pretend to like it. Or perhaps Princess Charlotte was
enceinte
again?

The duchess had cunningly ranged herself alongside Belami, for she had not yet had the opportunity to congratulate him coldly. Belami had no notion what the announcement might be. He only knew that if the damned duchess would step forward one pace, he could get a look at Deirdre. Several looks had passed between them that evening, looks full of unspoken interest, of forgiveness, of continuing passion.

The prince cleared his throat and began to speak. “My dear friends, it gives me great pleasure to announce that Lord Belami’s name has been put forward to receive a marquess-ship for his long and enthusiastic endeavors on behalf of England. I have given my personal endorsement to this nomination,” he added, which was as good as saying the thing was done.

The most stunned person in the room was Belami. He hadn’t a wish in the world for this honor. It would raise conjecture of the most lurid sort—that he’d been gambling heavily and had Prinney over a financial barrel, that he’d turned political and become a Tory—or it might even lead to a revelation of the truth. The prince went on with long praise of his father, the late Lord Belami, who had, in fact, involved himself in government matters. That was to be the ignominious excuse then, Belami realized, that he was being elevated for his father’s friendship to the prince. Every atom of his body revolted, but he stood like a rock and even managed a stiff, frozen sort of smile.

When the prince had finished speaking, the duchess turned to Belami and took his hand. “Let me be the first to congratulate you, Lord Belami. What title will you choose? Marquess of Beaulac sounds mighty impressive, if you don’t mind a suggestion, and is suitable since your country seat is named Beaulac.”

“Well I don’t really … I haven’t thought of it. I had no idea …”

“Speechless with delight. It is only to be expected. My heartiest congratulations. Deirdre,” she said, turning to her niece, “you haven’t congratulated Lord Belami.”

The two lovers exchanged a secret smile. “Congratulations. I’m very happy for you,” she said, offering her hand.

“A curtsy will do,” the duchess told her sharply, and yanked her hand back.

The interlude was over. Other well-wishers pushed forward to congratulate Belami, and the duchess was eased to the rear of the throng.

“There’s a fine feather in Dick’s cap then,” Pronto said, ambling up to them. “Never said a word to me about it. Close as an oyster is our Dick”

More champagne was drunk, and the temperature of the room seemed to rise ten degrees with every glass, till there wasn’t a gentleman’s collar in the room that wasn’t wilted. The duchess found the temperature entirely comfortable. She congratulated the prince for his acumen in advancing Belami’s status.

“I thought it might please you,” the prince said, giving her a conspiratorial wink. “That lad will be a duke before he’s thirty-five.”

“Not a doubt about it,’’ the duchess agreed heartily. She began to see that he must on no account be allowed to escape her clutches. Deirdre, the confirmed ninnyhammer, wasn’t making up to him in the least, but hung back as if she were no more than a passing acquaintance.

By a kind of filial osmosis, Deirdre knew that her fortunes had changed. Belami had contrived once again to make himself acceptable to her aunt. She longed to tell Dick so, but a crowded party hardly seemed the place for it. If Belami was unattainable, Pronto was the next best thing. He could always be relied on to deliver secrets to his friend, so Deirdre turned to him.

“Does Dick know I was at the inn this afternoon?” she asked, rather shyly.

“You didn’t say not to tell him,” was his indignant answer.

“No, I didn’t. What—what did he say?”

“He said he was sorry to have subjected you to that woman’s presence again. I believe I was supposed to beg your pardon.”

“I don’t mind in the least. Actually, I’m happy I was there.”

“That’s what we figured. Dick is a famous hand at arranging…” He came to a guilty stop. “Not to say that he arranged for you to be there.” His crimson face told the story. “You must own he handled Madame X pretty cagily.”

“Madame X or Miss Gower?” she asked with a scathing glance at Belami, who was unfortunately receiving the congratulations of a stunning blonde at that moment. Her look was intercepted by him. His smile faded, and he knew as surely as he knew he didn’t want to be a marquess that Pronto had let the cat out of the bag.

He hurried to Deirdre, deciding the wisest course was to brazen it out in public, where she couldn’t hit him and wouldn’t cry if she could help it. “Deirdre, I have to talk to you,” he said, his voice strained.

The duchess turned her head, baring her teeth in a sly smile. “Ah, Belami, there you are. Congratulations again,’’ she rushed in. “I see the prince is just taking his leave. I’m half glad, for now the rest of us can get home. He sent us in his carriage, you must know, and is having us hauled home the same way. But I see that arrangement doesn’t please you,’’ she invented with a laugh of merriment. “Very well then, I shall give in to you this once. You may take Deirdre home, but mind there’s no driving out of the way. Straight home, the pair of you. There’s a little matter I wish to discuss with you, Belami.”

She sailed off, leaving him little choice in the matter unless he planned to make Deirdre walk home. Charney was in fear of hearing Deirdre’s footsteps hurrying after her and literally ran the last few yards to summon the prince’s carriage.

“Would you like to go home now?” Belami asked Deirdre.

“Yes, if Pronto would be so kind as to take me,’’ she replied, giving Pronto a commanding look.

“Charney didn’t give me permission. I ain’t the one’s going to be a marquess,” he said, trumpeting the awful truth.

“Neither am I,’’ Belami said angrily.

“Not accept it!” Deirdre exclaimed, shocked out of her anger. “You must!”

Pronto concluded from the surreptitious nudges Belami was aiming at his elbow that his job now was to disappear with his carriage. He took a last bored look around the party and said he guessed he’d be toddling along.

“I haven’t done anything to earn the title,’’ Belami pointed out. “I’ll look a jackass when it comes up for discussion.”

“Suit yourself. I’m sure it has nothing to do with me,” she replied, and scanned the room for a different ride home.

“We’ll discuss it in the carriage,” he told her, and took a firm grip on her arm. She resisted till it became clear she was going to be dragged forth, at which time she walked swiftly on her own power to the door.

She was as stiff as a snowman when she was seated in the carriage opposite Belami. ‘‘Deirdre, what’s the matter now?” he asked in exasperation, though of course he knew perfectly well.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Then why are you sitting over there?”

“Because I don’t trust you. You manipulated me, Dick.’’

He heard the Dick with joy. Dick could really do no harm. It was Lord Belami he had to be wary of.

“You arranged for Pronto to get me up to his clothespress,” she continued. “You put on that fine rant with Gilham for my benefit, to fool me.”

“No, to give you a graphic demonstration of the truth since you wouldn’t let me tell you to your face.” Receiving no counterattack, he switched to her banquette and reached for her hands.