The Indomitable Miss Harris (6 page)

“Just so. And I fear she aims her poison at the Princess Charlotte.”

“Heard she was here,” Alvanley put in mildly, taking a pinch of snuff from an exquisite enameled snuffbox. Though both Brummell and Landover were dressed conservatively in black pantaloons and jackets, crisp white shirts, neatly tied neckcloths, and a minimum of fobs and rings, Alvanley sported buff breeches, a chocolate coat, a brightly flowered waistcoat, and a Mathematical tie. His shirt points were so high that he could scarcely turn his head when Brummell commented that Prinny would not like to hear of his daughter’s presence in the Oldenburg entourage.

“Then we must hope he does not hear of it tonight,” Landover said. “What makes you think the grand duchess is spreading poison, Amelia?”

Mrs. Periwinkle glanced uncertainly at Gillian. Recognizing her predicament, Gillian spoke up quickly. “The duchess said a good many things that don’t bear repeating, sir. I think Cousin Amelia merely thought she should not say such things in the princess’s hearing.”

Mrs. Periwinkle nodded gratefully, but Landover gazed at them both for a rather long moment before turning his attention to young Lord Darrow. “And what did you think of her, Darrow?”

“I have not been privileged with an introduction, sir. I know only what I hear.”

“Can’t know much to the good then,” Alvanley declared. “Very pushing female by all accounts.”

“Must have been spouting off about Prinny,” observed the Beau with a nearly malicious glint in his eye. “Must say, she does make a shrewd assessment now and again.”

“That will do, George,” Landover said firmly. “We are all aware of your sentiments, but this matter could have serious ramifications. The princess is vulnerable.”

Brummell shrugged eloquently. “She will survive, I imagine. Nice enough chit when all’s said and done. Shame to give her over to that boorish fellow from Orange.”

“She may not go,” Gillian said without thinking.

“She will have no choice in the matter,” Landover replied curtly, but his eyes narrowed, and he changed the subject.

Shortly afterward, they returned to the main reception room and circulated for a brief time. Then the Beau reappeared to inform Landover that he had spoken with three people, thus acquitting himself nicely for a rout, especially since one of them was a total stranger. “We can go now, my lords. Fifteen minutes longer, and we shall be bored to distraction.”

Alvanley agreed, and Mrs. Periwinkle said that she and her charge must also be on their way as soon as they had made their adieux to the de Lievens. “Do you come with us, Landover?”

“I do. Alvanley and the Beau are promised at Clarence House, and if I go with them, I shall no doubt forget my duty, which is to see you both safely to Carlton House before the night is done. Shall we go?”

With the gentlemen taking the lead, it was but a matter of moments before the amenities had been seen to and the ladies were once more in their carriage. Landover seated himself opposite, his back to the horses, and they were off, the carriage lamps casting a dim glow over the three faces within.

Under cover of Mrs. Periwinkle’s sprightly conversation, Gillian watched Landover. He seemed to be giving the elderly lady his undivided attention, so she felt perfectly safe in doing so. He looked precise to a pin and completely at his ease as he responded to a question regarding politics put to him by Mrs. Periwinkle. Within moments, their conversation had turned to the forthcoming visit of the Allied Sovereigns.

“What with Tsar Alexander and King Frederick William of Prussia coming to celebrate that dreadful Bonaparte’s defeat, not to mention possible royal nuptials, this will truly be a Season to remember,” Mrs. Periwinkle said cheerfully.

Gillian had little interest in the Tsar or the King of Prussia—though, to be sure, she was looking forward to catching a glimpse of these mighty personages—but she was rapidly developing a strong interest in the fate of the crown princess.

“I don’t think we should count on a royal wedding,” she said as a lull fell into the others’ conversation.

“Would you care to explain that?”

Gillian scarcely realized she had spoken aloud, but she looked up at him now and answered directly. “The princess herself said so. I daresay she’s having second thoughts about the Prince of Orange. I really know nothing more than that, but I like her, and if she doesn’t want to marry him, I don’t think anyone should force her to do so.”

“Your opinions must always be of interest to us, Miss Harris, though I would prefer that you not express them, as you did tonight, to such persons as Brummell or his ilk,” Landover said, adding bluntly, “You are not to cultivate that acquaintance.”

Gillian stared at him. “Mr. Brummell’s?”

“Of course not,” he growled. “Her highness’s.”

“Why not?”

“Because I say so. It can do you no good.”

“My lord,” she returned between gritted teeth, “you may control my purse strings, but I cannot allow you to control my friends. The princess has very kindly said she will send me an invitation to visit her. I shall not refuse to go.”

“Indeed, Landover, she cannot,” put in Mrs. Periwinkle quickly. “’Twould be to insult Princess Charlotte, and the only person who would approve such a thing is the Regent. Gillian has no reason to curry favor in that direction.”

“No, certainly not,” Landover agreed evenly. “I never meant either of you to attach such a meaning to my words. If the princess does indeed extend such an invitation, Miss Harris must accept. However,” he added, speaking directly to Gillian, “you are to stay no longer than the requisite twenty minutes and you are to do nothing to put yourself forward.”

“But she needs friends!” Gillian protested. “She said so herself, and the grand duchess said she ought to have more friends of her own age.”

“I am totally uninterested in the duchess’s views upon that or any other subject. And whatever the princess needs or doesn’t need, I don’t want you mixed up in the affairs of that household. And that’s my final word on the subject.” With that he turned blandly to Mrs. Periwinkle and asked her opinion of the play currently being presented at Drury Lane. She responded with undisguised relief, and Gillian was left to glare impotently at them both.

Neither of her companions made any effort to bring her into their conversation, so she was left to her own thoughts until they reached town. It was decided then to postpone their appearance at the Bettencourt ball, since it was already nearing ten o’clock, and the prince’s guests would no doubt have left the dining table. It seemed no time at all after that before the carriage was drawing to a halt before the Pall Mall entrance to Carlton House.

The magnificent Ionic screen and well-lit Corinthian portico were nothing new to Gillian, for she had passed by the prince’s primary residence often and had seen it lit up and teeming with colorful guests. But this would be the first time she herself would number among those guests, and excitement welled within her at the thought.

Her quarrel with Landover was forgotten instantly, and her eyes were sparkling as he handed her down from the carriage and gave instructions to his coachman to return in an hour. Following Landover’s guidance, they passed quickly through the torchlit courtyard to the vestibule, then through a series of elegant drawing rooms, past the famous grand ballroom, to an exotic chamber that Gillian recognized from descriptions she had heard as the Chinese Room. Here they found his highness amidst a group of some twenty or thirty chattering guests. The presentation was quickly made, and Gillian soon found herself rising from a deep curtsy under the twinklingly appreciative gaze of the First Gentleman of Europe.

A
S GILLIAN AROSE FROM
her deep curtsy, she realized that the prince was eyeing her appraisingly, and she was promptly reminded of the grand duchess’s warning. Determined not to be overset by his bold looks, she gazed at him straightly, her candid eyes wide with awe.

“This is such a wonderful house, sir! You must be ever so proud of it!”

“’Tis well enough, Miss Harris.” But he was beaming his approval of such admiration. “We seek continually to improve upon its perfection, however, and let me say that tonight your presence achieves that very purpose.”

“Thank you, sir,” Gillian replied, looking demurely down at her satin-covered toes.

“No need to blush, Miss Harris. No more than the truth, assure you.” He turned to Landover. “Why have you been hiding such a light under your bushel, my lord? ’Tis to deny the rest of us poor mortals the blessings of basking in its glory. For shame, sir.”

Landover gave a wry bow. “Pure laziness on my part, your highness. But I have been brought to understand my error, I assure you.”

Gillian did blush this time, and the prince eyed both of them a bit doubtfully before once again giving her his full attention.

“Since you admire my house, Miss Harris, perhaps you will allow me the pleasure of showing you a bit more of it. I have lived here more than twenty years now, you know, and in that time I have achieved—if I might be pardoned for saying so—great things. My armory fills four entire rooms and includes a Cellini sword as well as arms from every nation. Or perhaps the Plate Room.” He beamed. “Some very fine King Charles plate and all manner of elegant things. Or perhaps you prefer to be amused by the antics of the gamblers in the Circular Drawing Room.” He bent his head nearer hers and lowered his voice. “They play E.O. and
chemin de fer
there. Don’t gamble myself, of course, but I do enjoy providing pleasure for others.” He chuckled. “You won’t credit it, but Lord Kenyon vowed he’d put Lady Bessborough and her friends in the pillory for their activities here. And do you know, some folk actually call this place ‘the Pillory’ as a result?”

He laughed, evidently thinking it all rather a good joke, and at the same time dropped a plump if princely arm around Gillian’s waist as though to guide her whither he would.

“I’m sure we shall be delighted to see more of your glorious residence, your highness,” piped up Mrs. Periwinkle enthusiastically. “The very pink of courtesy indeed.”

The prince glanced doubtfully at Landover.

“’Tis a quote from
Romeo and Juliet,
sir, but very apt. We should indeed be delighted to accompany you.”

“Dash it, Landover,” the prince glared in an angry aside, “I never meant to make a touring party of it. Surely your Mrs. Popwhistle there is dying for a
petit four
or a dish of tea. See to it, man. You’re not the chit’s guardian, after all!”

Landover leaned forward confidingly. “No, sir, that I am not—most thankfully. But you will certainly understand my predicament when I tell you that her guardian is a mere stripling, scarce dry behind the ears himself. Why, as a result of his rather haphazard surveillance, I have had to exert myself far beyond my normal practice. Already today, I’ve been forced to make my position clear to one young rake, so I think—with your permission—I shall continue to advertise my intention to keep Miss Harris well under my wing.”

The prince continued to glare, but he had little choice other than to submit with as much grace as he could muster. Nonetheless, their tour of Carlton House was brief and uninspired. The moment they returned to the Chinese Room, the Regent indicated a nearby group surrounding Lady Hertford and took himself off, much in the manner of a sulky child.

The glint of amusement in Landover’s eye deepened when Mrs. Periwinkle turned anxiously toward him and exclaimed, “He is most put out, my lord! I trust our behavior tonight has not endangered your friendship!”

“Not to worry, my dear ma’am. One would scarce honor our relationship by such a term as ‘friendship,’ but his highness has far greater need for my purse than I have for royal favor. He’ll soon come about.”

“Your purse, Landover?” Even as the words tumbled out, Gillian realized that she had spoken out of turn. Such matters were no concern of hers. But instead of the setdown she knew she deserved, he smiled wryly and answered her.

“Indeed, Miss Harris. Even in the depths of Sussex, you are near enough to Brighton to have heard at least some of the gossip about Prinny’s financial embarrassments.”

“He is always dreadfully purse-pinched,” Mrs. Periwinkle contributed.

“Well, of course I have heard things,” Gillian replied, “but I thought that his greatest debts were paid off when he married Princess Caroline.”

“My good child,” Landover chuckled, “that was nearly twenty years ago. Believe me when I tell you he has managed to accrue a good many more great debts in the meantime. There is that outlandish pavilion at Brighton, his horses, his treasures, and this place.” He gestured. “An incredible drain upon anyone’s pockets, believe me, and Prinny’s are not all that well lined to begin with.”

Gillian looked around again at the lavish furnishings, the elegant accessories, the magnificent artworks. “It must indeed be very expensive,” she said slowly.

“You might well say so. Why, each night that the ballroom is used, the band costs one hundred and fifty guineas, while it costs another fifteen guineas per night just for the French chalk for the dance floor. And the ratcatchers’ bills exceed those of the chimney sweeps, because the damned … ah, excuse me … the dratted place is infested with the vermin.”

Gillian glanced quickly about her, half expecting to discover a pair of glittering, feral eyes examining her from under a nearby lacquered table, and was accordingly glad when Landover added that their carriage must be waiting. But she could not resist questioning him further, especially in view of the fact that he seemed more approachable now than before.

“But surely you do not pay such bills for him!” They were making their way toward the Pall Mall entrance, and she lowered her voice in order that it might not carry to other guests. At first, she thought he had not heard her, but he was merely waiting until they reached the semiprivacy of the vestibule.

“I do not pay those bills,” he said slowly, “although I have been known to lend him money when he’s been badly strapped. More often, however, I purchase antiques and artwork for which he expresses a fancy, and then I donate them to Carlton House.”