The Adventuress: HFTS5 (9 page)

The earl raised his quizzing glass and studied her. He barely knew her; he was sure no woman could hold any fascination for him merely because she was beautiful. But as he watched her, he felt a pang of compassion, an odd longing to shield her from the consequences of what he was convinced was her own folly.

He muttered something under his breath, rose to his feet, and left the box.

The earl was subsequently seen visiting box after box, finally ending up bowing before Emily. Fitz wondered what on earth his friend was up to. The noise from the pit grew louder and harsher. The diva on the stage was becoming very angry and was hurling the missiles thrown at her back at the audience. This was considered highly sporting of her, and after a little more shouting and noise the audience decided to give her a chance and settled down to listen.

The earl returned during the interval. “Come, Fitz,” he said. “We have much to do. I am giving a rout—an impromptu rout at midnight.”

“But everyone will stay for the ball after the opera! No one will come.”

“Oh, yes they will. All declare themselves anxious to make the acquaintance of London’s latest star—Princess Anastasia Moussepof.”

“Never heard of her. Who is she?”

“You, my dear chap. You.”

“Do you really think I should attend Fleetwood’s rout?” Emily asked Mrs. Middleton.

“I think it would be wise, Miss Goodenough. Fleetwood is admired by all. The Prince Regent himself might come, if he hears of it.”

“Then we
must
go,” cried Mr. Goodenough. “I have long been an admirer of the Prince Regent, and it has always been my dream to meet him.”

“But I fear Fleetwood may be mocking us,” said Emily anxiously. “Another princess! He had that funny droll look in his eyes when he issued the invitation. I am so weary of being thought a princess. Unless something happens to divert society’s attention from me, then someone is going to become over-curious and unmask me.”

“Perhaps this new princess will be just the thing,” said Mrs. Middleton.

“But what if I am introduced to her as another princess and
she
starts questioning me?”

“Then you must do what you have done with everyone else,” said Mrs. Middleton. “Deny that you are a princess. So far, no one seems to have believed you, but perhaps when they hear you tell this Princess Anastasia so, then they will come to accept you as Miss Goodenough. But you must admit, it
was
a good idea. You would not have met anyone in society had it not been for Lizzie’s idea.”

“Who is Lizzie?”

“The little scullery maid. A most superior person. Shhh! The opera is about to recommence.”

Emily barely heard any of it. She felt the strain of being an impostor. It was bad enough being an ex-chambermaid—but to pretend to be a princess! Only the other week, some unfortunate had been hanged outside Newgate for pretending to be a peer of the realm. But that was an
English
peer. They surely could not hang someone for pretending to be a
foreign
princess. Why did Fleetwood look at her with that mocking, amused expression in his eyes?

Poor Emily’s worries went on and on while the undistinguished opera by a little-known Italian composer dragged on to the end. The opera was followed by a farce, and then it was time to go to the Earl of Fleetwood’s house in Park Lane.

As they left the opera house, Emily glanced at herself in one of the long mirrors. A beautiful and elegant lady looked back. “If only I could feel like a lady
inside,”
mourned Emily.

On the way to Park Lane in their rented carriage, with the tall figure of Joseph clinging to the backstrap, each occupant was immersed in his and her private thoughts. Emily was deciding that it would be a relief, in a way, to be unmasked. This Season had been a great mistake. How could she have ever dreamt of marriage to one of
them?
Better to retire to the country with her dear friend and live a quiet and comfortable existence. God put us in our appointed stations the day we were born, and to try to move up or down was a heinous sin.

Mr. Goodenough was praying that the Prince Regent would be there. If only he could make his bow, and look on those famous features, he felt he would die a happy man.

Mrs. Middleton was deathly tired. She hoped they would only stay a short time at the rout. Her feet were swelling inside her new shoes, and her new corset was pinching her above the waist. Emily had not uttered one coarse phrase during all the socialising before the opera began. Mrs. Middleton had enjoyed her brief elevation to the ranks of society, but now all she wanted to do was to get back to her comfortable parlour and become a housekeeper again.

The earl’s house was a blaze of lights from top to bottom. The Goodenoughs and Mrs. Middleton had to wait and wait while their carriage inched forward through the press.

When they finally alighted, Emily called Joseph and told him to accompany them inside. She was quickly coming to rely more and more on the Clarges Street servants and felt Joseph’s tall presence behind her at the rout would be a comfort.

Joseph was thrilled at the idea of having a look at a real-live princess. It almost took his mind off his nagging worry about Lizzie and why Luke should suddenly have become interested in her.

The first thing Emily noticed was that there were no refreshments, no cards, no music. She blushed as she thought of her own efforts and wondered whether she had been considered parvenu to have supplied food, drink, and an orchestra.

Emily, Mr. Goodenough, Mrs. Middleton, and Joseph queued on the staircase that led up to the drawing room on the first floor.

There was a great deal of pushing and shoving as some members of the ton shoved their way up and others who had had the glory of meeting the princess pushed their way down.

At last, Emily’s party reached the double doors of the drawing room.

Mr. Goodenough scrambled for his card case, could not find it, and gave their names in a shaky voice.

The little party walked forward.

Emily’s heart sank.

For here, surely, was a real princess.

She was a tall, elegant lady wearing an enormous powdered wig. Her face was a mask of white blanc with a circle of rouge painted on each cheek. She was wearing a long, flowing, crimson velvet robe heavily encrusted with gold embroidery. Heavy barbaric necklaces of huge rubies and sapphires set in old gold hung about her neck and fell almost to her waist over her flat bosom.

The earl was standing behind her chair.

“And who is this?” demanded the princess in a surprisingly deep voice.

“Miss Emily Goodenough,” murmured the earl, “her uncle, Mr. Benjamin Goodenough, and Miss Emily’s companion, Mrs. Middleton.”

“You are very beautiful, child,” said the princess. “You may kiss me.”

Emily shyly walked forward, sank into a deep curtsy, and then made to kiss the princess on the cheek. She found herself seized in a strong grip and then, to her consternation, the princess kissed her full on the mouth.

“I should call you out for that, you old ratbag,” said the earl.

Blushing furiously, Emily retreated backwards and looked at the earl and the princess in surprise.

Mr. Goodenough made his bow and Mrs. Middleton dropped her best curtsy.

Just as they were about to leave, there came a great stirring and rustling and exclaiming from those waiting to be presented, and then Giles called out, “His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent; Mr. George Brummell; Lord Alvanley.”

“The deuce!” exclaimed the earl.

The Prince Regent waddled forward. He was wearing skin-tight knee-breeches and his evening coat was strained across his shoulders. Slim, elegant, and amused, the famous Beau Brummell stood behind him with the squat and powerful Lord Alvanley.

“Princess Anastasia,” said the prince, “we are delighted to welcome you to our country.”

The princess stood up and dropped an awkward curtsy.

“We were not informed of your arrival by your ambassador,” pursued the prince.

“My regrets,” murmured the princess.

“He being the ambassador of…?” The prince looked enquiringly at the princess, who looked wildly to the earl for support.

“I am afraid, Your Royal Highness,” said the earl, “that our princess is …” He reached forward and lifted the wig from Princess Anastasia’s head. “None other than Mr. Jason Fitzgerald, at your service.”

Fitz bowed from the waist. The Prince Regent gazed at him, outraged.

Then, from behind them, Emily began to laugh. It was a clear, ringing, infectious laugh. The prince turned about and surveyed her. She was holding her sides and laughing whole-heartedly.

“Gad’s ’oonds!” cried the prince. “You devil, Fleetwood.” He began to laugh as well. Everyone began to laugh helplessly, and those that did not know what the prince was laughing at, for they were still jammed out on the staircase, nonetheless began to laugh as well. For if something amused the Prince Regent, then it followed that everyone else
must
be amused, whether they knew the joke or not.

“Who is this?” demanded the prince, when he had finished laughing, looking at Emily.

“May I present London’s famous beauty,” said the earl, “Miss Emily Goodenough.” He looked to where Mr. Goodenough stood behind Emily, trembling with hope and excitement. “And her uncle, Mr. Goodenough, and her companion, Mrs. Middleton.”

Emily, despite her beauty, was forgotten as the prince looked at the shaking awe and admiration on Mr. Goodenough’s twisted face.

His portly chest swelled. He extended two podgy fingers. “We are pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Goodenough,” he said.

White with excitement, Mr. Goodenough shook those royal fingers. “Your Royal Highness,” he gasped, “I shall treasure this moment until the day I die.”

“Tol rol,” said the prince, waving a dismissive hand, but looking vastly pleased. “And Mrs. Middleton, is it not? Charmed.”

Mrs. Middleton looked at him with hero-worship in her eyes.

Becoming more pleased by the minute, the prince chucked Emily under the chin. “Indeed a beauty,” he said. “Going to snatch her up, hey, Fleetwood?”

“If Miss Goodenough will give me a chance to do so,” said the earl smoothly. “Giles! Champagne for His Highness, if you please.”

The laughing crowd moved around the prince and cut him off from Emily’s view.

Emily stood stunned. She had met the Prince Regent! What was more important, Mr. Goodenough had met the Prince Regent. Surely they needed nothing more from this Season.

Voices rose and fell about her. “We shall have to plan something different for
our
rout,” said one. “Princesses are quite exploded, my dear. I suppose that Miss Goodenough was playing a joke on us as well. Still, now she has Prinny’s favour, she can do no wrong. I never thought she was a princess anyway.”

“But she is high ton,” said another voice, “or Fleetwood would never have proposed to her in front of the prince.”

“He never did!”

“Not in so many words, but that is what he implied. And Fleetwood is a very high stickler. Goodenough. Never heard of them. Must hail from the untitled aristocracy.”

Emily heaved a sigh of relief. At least she did not have to pretend to be a princess any more.

She signalled to a dazed Mrs. Middleton that they should take their leave.

Joseph followed them down the staircase, muttering, “Oh, my! Oh, my! Wait until I tell Rainbird. Our own Mrs. Middleton meeting the prince. Oh, my!”

Joseph could hardly wait to get to the servants’ hall to tell everyone the news. But Emily, elated and delighted that her role as princess was over, summoned the staff into the front parlour and asked Rainbird to serve them all champagne.

“I am behaving in a very common way,” she thought, “by entertaining servants, but I am tired of being a lady. From now on I am going to be myself.”

And in all the relief and excitement, Emily forgot she was still an adventuress, still an impostor, and that, if society ever found out she was an ex-chambermaid, they would hound her out of Town.

In the week that followed, Lord Fleetwood did not call. Emily tried to tell herself she was relieved, although he had—unwittingly, she was sure—saved her from having to maintain her pose as a princess. She had many beaux and plenty of invitations. She and Mr. Goodenough decided to relax and enjoy a little more of the Season before deciding what to do next. Emily had more or less made up her mind
not
to find a husband, and that decision had made life easier. She made no more slips into common speech and soon found she was able to converse naturally without guarding her tongue every minute.