Saffina's Season (11 page)

But a week later, there was still no sign of my finished picture. Surely Martin needed his fee? Was that why he’d tried to make contact?

No matter. I’d visit his lodgings sometime soon. He’d earned his fee, for sure.

* * * *

Meanwhile, with parliament due its summer recess, the Season was soon to end. For us the highlight would be the Carlton House ball, held partly to honor the old queen’s birthday.

Invitations were highly prized. Everyone wanted to be there because everyone knew its real purpose—for the prince to reveal his new mistress.

Society was all agog, apart from Jacquard. He yawned whenever I quizzed him on the topic. I even pestered him while we’d made love.

“Spare me,” he groaned. “Piccadilly’s full of it. The real surprise is that he’s kept a secret at all.”

“But somebody must know who she is.” My friends had talked of nothing else for weeks.

“I suppose the lady knows, and I suppose the prince knows.” Jacquard grinned, as he dropped a precise line of soft kisses all along my throat. “So it hardly matters who else knows. I, for one, couldn’t care less. Now turn over on your front this time. I want to pay some attention to
this
.”

With a hearty slap on my rump, he covered me from behind, and in seconds I’d forgotten all about the prince and his new mystery lady as Jacquard had his wicked way with my backside.

But as I dressed for the ball, it was impossible not to feel excited. Tonight we’d witness a tiny piece of history. The mistress of a prince always caused a stir and held great power. Society flocked to her door.

With Jacquard and me there to witness it, I’d see the birth of some new legend in her own right.

In my looking glass, I gazed entranced at my own transformation, with diamonds sparkling in my hair and blazing around my neck. At this very minute, somewhere in London, another lady much like me was doing the same. But by the end of the evening, I’d be just a weary countess with feet tired from dancing, while she’d have stepped into legend.

A star is born…

“Ready, ma’am?” Jacquard, fresh from his valet, was leaning in the doorway. He looked the image of classical perfection, his lean, handsome face lighting up with a wide, appreciative smile at the sight of me.

At least this weary countess will have a rich, madly handsome earl to come home with and not some fat, jowly prince to amuse for the rest of the night.

* * * *

Carlton House was ablaze with light, jewels and beauty. Champagne fizzed, conversation sparkled. The buffet tables held a vast assortment of savories, sweets and spun-sugar confections shaped like swans.

Everything glittered.

I lost Jacquard once or twice in the crowd, but each time he appeared from nowhere, putting his arm around my waist to steal a kiss. At my startled look, he grinned.

“In a crush like this, who’s to know?”

His whispered murmur thrilled me.

At the end of the evening, we’ll be alone. I can kiss him where I want to kiss him. He can fondle me like he wants to fondle me.

At that moment the orchestra blew a fanfare and the prince appeared to wild applause. He beamed around at the crowd, swaying a little.

“Looks like he’s been at the port again.” Jacquard’s quiet growl was meant for my ears alone. Onlookers nearby covered a smile.

The regent greeted the company, only slightly slurring.

“Good evening, one and all. I now have the greatest pleasure in unveiling the portrait of a lady most high in my affections, as I’m sure you’ve all heard.”

More applause broke out as a bevy of beauties pushed through to the front, among them Lady Hornsea, elbowing the others out of the way to get as close as she could. The look on her face and a dig in the ribs from Jacquard hinted that this was indeed the lady of the hour.

Now the prince pulled a cord to roll back some drapes. Behind them, an easel was placed on a dais. It held a painting covered with an elegant fold of velvet.

The prince beamed around again. “And, ladies and gentlemen, here she is.
Voilà.
”

At a drumroll from the orchestra, he twitched away the cloth—to reveal
my
portrait.

Dumbstruck, I stared in helpless horror. Faces turned to me in shock.

My first thought was the painting was sensational. My pose was lewd, my expression alluring. The magnificent diamonds I was wearing for tonight’s ball were mirrored in the portrait. Except on canvas, they were all I wore.

My second thought was this was a disaster. How was it possible? But an awful light dawned as a new arrival joined the prince with a bow. Beaming and smug, he was introduced as the artist.

Signor Canelli.

“Your Highness, allow me to present the subject of your gracious commission. All was done as Her Ladyship requested. I have the greatest honor in presenting to you my latest work.”

Next to me I felt Jacquard stiffen.

“What the deuce?” With a snarl he spun me around to face him. Ignoring the surprised looks all around us, he glared down at me, eyes blazing. “Saffina? Is
this
your surprise? Are you out of your
mind
? For pity’s sake, tell me you’ve not pleasured that bloated buffoon of a prince?”

I gazed up at him, pleading with my eyes.

“Hush, sir. It’s all a mistake. Let me handle this.” I laid a reassuring hand on his arm then pushed my way through the crowd.

I’d tackle Jacquard later, when we were alone. First I must right a terrible wrong that I’d done a younger and far poorer man—
Martin
.

Meanwhile, another drama was being played out before the crowd. The prince was goggling from me to Lady Hornsea and back, as if trying to decide which of us
was
his favorite, when all at once, his mind was made up for him.

Lady Hornsea took a swing and slapped him hard on the cheek.

“You wretch. You said it was me—”

Instantly friends of the prince and a couple of footmen dragged her off, trying in vain to calm her shouts. The prince gave me a wry grin over the heads of the crowd.

I quickly joined him, greeting him with a curtsey.

“Your Highness, the painting is lovely, but it’s not meant for you, nor for public gaze. And, as far as I know, this is not the artist.”

The room fell silent as I gazed around serenely.

Signor Canelli spluttered, staring from me to the prince. “
What?
But your highness, she held the scarlet fan. I understood the lady in question—”

In a flash I saw it all.
The fan.
Lady Hornsea must have dropped it, and I’d picked it up.

I gave the prince and his painter a regal smile, looking innocently from one to the other. “The gentleman is mistaken, Your Highness. I gave my commission to a Mr. Martin Lucas, a brilliant young artist who lives in Chelsea. This gentleman was simply acting as his assistant,” I added airily.

The Italian looked outraged, but I stood firm.

The prince, sensing mischief, grinned and kissed my fingers with a flourish. “Capital, capital. By Jove, ma’am, a pretty jest. So you’re in line for me too, eh? But I’ll not take you up on it. More than my life’s worth to risk Endale’s wrath, what? From what I hear, he’s not a man to cross.” He gave me an elaborate wink. “Don’t mind Lady Hornsea, ma’am. She can sit for another.”

I curtseyed low then hurried away, glad he thought it a joke. As I pushed through the crowd to get back to Jacquard, I heard whispers all around me.

“Whose name did she say? Martin Lucas?”

“Where does he live? Chelsea, is it?”

“So who
is
the new mistress? Lady Endale? Or Lady Hornsea?”

But Jacquard was at the far door, already on the point of leaving. As I scanned the crowd, he looked back for an instant, searching for me. He met my gaze with a flicker of anguish, then was gone.

Desperate now, I tried to get close but my way was barred. Word had reached the other salons on the first floor. People were crowding in to see what was happening.

When I finally reached the main entrance, I saw our carriage still parked across the street. In a panic I raced over to where my maid stood waiting with the coachman.

“Thank goodness you’re still here,” I panted. “Is His Lordship inside?”

The coachman looked scared. “No, milady. He’s away to Endale Hall. He set off on horseback. He said you’re to follow in the carriage, if you wished.”

If I
wished
? Chilled, I kept my manner calm. “Did he say why?”

My maid butted in, her face white. “Oh milady, it’s your little boy. He’s took sick.”

Chapter Eleven

In the carriage I pumped my terrified maid for more detail. What kind of message? Was baby Jasper ill? Was it serious? Did His Lordship say anything else?

Was my baby still alive?

She cringed back against the seat. “He didn’t say, milady. Just sent for his horse and rode off.”

Left to me, I’d have ridden off too, but I had the household to consider. We must call back at Endale House to warn the servants. I needed traveling clothes.

Jacquard’s secretary met us at the door, his face grave. “I gather it’s serious, ma’am. His Lordship sent word that if you follow him, I’m to take charge of your jewels. You won’t be safe on the roads with a fortune around your neck.”

In my rooms I changed swiftly into daywear and a cloak, snapping at poor Annie when she fumbled with laces and ribbons. I scared her so much that she took twice as long.

Then I relented, seeing she was upset too. We wasted yet more time comforting each other with a warm hug.

At last we were underway and headed for the road out of town.

My portrait, Jacquard’s despair—my fresh plunge into scandal, possibly bringing ruin on his ancient family name—all were forgotten as I gazed out into the darkness and silently wept for my son.

I’d frolicked all summer while he lay sick? How could I?

Life became all stops and starts. We sped through the night or stamped with impatience while the horses were changed at remote country inns. I raged inside with guilt and worry.

Now a new fear gripped me. If Jacquard thought I dallied with the prince, would he throw me out? Bar me from the house? Forbid me entry to all his homes?

Even if my baby lives, I may never see him again.

I’d so looked forward to my first Season, to tasting the delights of the most exclusive set in the world on the arm of my stunning, distinguished husband.

I thought taking on the
ton
would be fun.

Teasing Jacquard would be even better—show him I could hold my own among the haughty ladies of the capital, with their flounces and fine manners and even make my own decisions.

All I’d done was bring him to despair and me to ruin.

For long, weary miles I slumped in the corner of the carriage, limp with misery.

At last, after a wretched day and a long, sleepless night followed by a chilly dawn, we came in sight of Endale Hall.

Early mists had cleared, the sun shone, birds sang. I craned out of the window, wishing I could leap out, run the rest of the way and hurl myself into the nursery.

At the same time, I dreaded what I’d find there. A cot draped in black? A physician with a black bag and a long face?

A tiny coffin?

What I did find, in the early-morning sunshine slanting over the park and through the tall windows, was a deserted entrance and a forsaken cradle.

Still garbed in my traveling dress and badly in need of a wash, my hair escaping from my maid’s hasty pins, I stood and stared around.

The drapes fluttered where the windows opened onto the lawns at the back of the house. Through them I heard voices—first a baby’s throaty chortle then a gust of hearty male laughter.

Jacquard?
I peered out, my heart thumping.

My gorgeous, lordly husband was in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat. He crouched on all fours on the fine sweep of the lawn. Toddling out of his reach as fast as he could on his little fat legs, my baby boy shrieked with laughter every time Jacquard gave a roar and lunged at him.

A cluster of servants still in aprons, and footmen minus their wigs, had come out to watch. They stood looking on with doting expressions.

As I watched, father and son rolled over together on the grass, then Jacquard sprang to his feet and hoisted little Jasper up onto his shoulders.

At that moment both saw me and waved, my son’s eyes full of glee—his father’s, cool.

The scene blurred as my tears spilled.

“Milady? Shall I take your cloak now?” My maid was crying too. “Better now, is he? Happen it were just the colic after all?”

“Let’s hope so, Annie.” I kissed her cheek. “I’m so glad we’re home.”

I quickly washed and changed. In a clean morning gown, and with my hair scooped back into a simple bow, I went down to the lawns.

Little Jasper hugged me, but he was already tiring. As he started to nod, his nurse lifted him out of my arms and bore him off to bed.

Jacquard stood quietly waiting, his jacket slung over one shoulder. His gaze told me nothing.

My hopes chilled.

“You could not tell me, my lord?” I turned to him with aching eyes. “I thought he was dying.”

“So did I.” He surveyed me for a moment, his look still cool. “The message said he was sick and to come quickly. You were busy with the prince. I supposed you had to explain about your portrait. I thought it might take a while. Is all resolved now?”

Why was he so calm? All at once I wished we were alone, not out here in the open with servants around. There were things I had to say.

“Can we go indoors, my lord? It’s very public here.”

His eyes flashed. “It was very public
there
. You truly meant to display your all to the whole of St. James’s? You seriously meant to take Hornsea’s place?”

He seized my hand and held it fast. As we walked back indoors, I rapidly explained about the mistake. Slowly he started to smile.

He laughed heartily when I told him how the prince’s new favorite had boxed his ears in front of the crowd.