The Tainted Snuff Box (30 page)

Speaking of scandal, this very evening party was designed to put a halt to any gossip Sylvester Fairingdale had initiated regarding a break between the Prince and me.  Throughout the

drinks and mingling that preceded dinner, everyone present could clearly see that his Royal Highness and I were on the best of terms.  If they could not, then they were shortly enlightened.

After chatting with the assembled guests, the Prince turned and spoke to me for all to hear.  “Brummell, I want to show my appreciation for your loyalty.”  He pulled a heavily jeweled snuff box from his pocket.

There was a general murmur of appreciation at the sight of such a costly item.  Rubies encrusted the lid, broken only by a pattern of diamonds in the Prince of Wales’s feathers.  The box sparkled in the candlelight.

The Prince extended his hand, offering it to me.  I hesitated, then took it.  The expression on his Royal Highness’s face was anything but one of generosity.  Instead, he looked miserable at having to part with what had—perhaps suddenly—become his favourite snuff box.

Petersham stepped over to examine the box.  “Impressive, truly impressive.  Rundell and Bridge, your Royal Highness?”

“Yes.  Made for me over the summer.”  Prinny’s face was positively glum.

Lord Munro came over and raised his quizzing glass to inspect the box.  “Very fine craftsmanship, but then that is to be expected from Rundell and Bridge.”

Petersham deliberately ignored him, and Lord Munro quickly walked away.  Their relationship had not been restored. 

The Perrys’ butler returned and announced that dinner was served. 

“A moment, your Royal Highness.  As much as I am honoured by the generous spirit of your gift, I would be pleased if you retained the box for yourself.  My allegiance to you needs no reward.”

The Prince gladly accepted the trinket back from my hand.  “Good of you, Brummell.  I’ll have another made for you.  Er, not right away, though.  I’m spending the winter at my Pavilion.”

I bowed, thinking I would sooner see females admitted as members of White’s than be gifted with another snuff box by Prinny.

 “Best be careful, your Royal Highness.  You remember what happened the last time Mr. Brummell passed a snuff box to you,” Tallarico jested.

Everyone waited nervously for the Prince’s reaction to this artless remark.  But then Prinny laughed, and the company followed suit.

Lord Perry shot me a look that plainly said, “I told you my cousin was trouble.”

As we moved toward the dining room, I pondered whether between us Perry and I could contrive a way to ship the Italian back to his homeland.

The atmosphere over dinner was jovial, though.  The Perrys’ table abounded with delicious food.  Conversation was lively. 

Later, I went home in a pleasant state of mind, other than having the niggling feeling that I wished Tallarico would leave Freddie alone.  She had not spoken of him during our too-short weekend together, which I took as a sign that the Italian had not yet orchestrated his way into her life.  And the devil would not succeed in doing so if I had anything to say in the matter!   

Dear, sweet Freddie.  Her generosity and kind nature extended to Marie.  The Royal Duchess had arranged passage for the troubled Frenchwoman to return to her homeland.  Perhaps there Marie would eventually recover from the tragic events that had befallen her.

Climbing the steps to my bedchamber, I thought back over Freddie and our long walks together, the card games we played, and the afternoons when we enjoyed watching the puppies’ antics.

Freddie had indicated a desire to learn the finer points of archery.  Manfully, I had volunteered to teach her in the spring, banishing mental images of holding her so I might show her just the way to pull back the bow.  She already knew how to bend the
Beau
to her will.

In my chamber, Robinson helped me undress for bed, still miffed over having to remove both Oatlands’ dog and Siamese cat hairs from my clothing.

After leaving me alone with a tea tray, the valet strode from the room, head held high.

“Well, Chakkri, my latest adventure is over.  I daresay I am looking forward to spring and the Season.  Everyone is always on their best behaviour then, eh?”

The cat stood at his favourite place by the fire.  He licked a spot over his left shoulder.

I pulled my portable writing desk out, sat in the high-backed chair near the table with the tea things, and balanced the desk on my knees.  The cat heard the rustling of paper and jumped to the arm of the chair to watch.  I stroked his fawn-coloured body, then turned to the task at hand.

“Here, I am going to make a sketch of some spectacles for Miss Lavender.  Although her father will be furious at the thought of my giving his daughter a gift.”

“Reow!” the cat said.

“I daresay Miss Lavender might not feel obliged to tell him.”  My pencil flew over the paper, drawing a feminine and fashionable pair of spectacles. 

“Mr. Lavender and the local magistrate closed down Sir Simon’s house, you know.  Most likely the property will revert to the Crown since the baronet died without heirs.  The revenue men will be glad that one segment of the smuggling trade will cease.”  I reached for my teacup and took a sip of the hot brew.

Chakkri shifted his weight on the arm of the chair.

Studying the drawing in front of me, I decided it would not do.  The design was too ornate for Miss Lavender.  She would want something feminine, yet simple.  I crumpled the paper and tossed it into the fire. 

Chakkri flew after the balled paper, skirting the tea things.  He stood and glared mournfully as his would-be toy was consumed by the flames.

“You want to play?  I shall indulge you.  I am so pleased you managed to get past my fine Sevres teacups without mishap.  I do not know what had made you so clumsy around the tea things lately.”

I made the offer gladly, but the capricious ways of felines are a mystery to me.

Chakkri ignored my invitation to a game.  Instead, he cast a look of catly disdain over his shoulder at me before he turned and walked from the room, favouring me with only a view of his tail end.

I wish to thank Sally Osbon for opening her London home to me so that I enjoyed an extended visit to the capital.  This book is dedicated with love to my son, Tom Stevens.

I wish to thank the staff at the Royal Pavilion, Brighton, for their kindness during my visit.  I am particularly grateful to Minna for her patience and help in deciphering what the 1805 architecture and furnishings of the Pavilion consisted of.  Alexander and Fotis deserve a special thank you as well.

Besides Beau Brummell, the following characters were real people:

George, Prince of Wales, Caroline, Princess of Wales, Maria Fitzherbert, Frederica, the Duchess of York, the Duke of Clarence, Prime Minister Pitt, Lady Hester Stanhope, Lord Petersham, Lord Yarmouth, Scrope Davies, Richard Sheridan, Lumley Skeffington, Lady Bessborough, Mr. and Mrs. Johnstone, Mr. and Mrs. Creevey, David Pitcairn, Jack Townsend, John Lavender, and, of course, Robinson.

Readers will note that even though this story takes place in October of 1805, there is no mention of naval hero Horatio Nelson’s victory at Trafalgar and his subsequent death.  The reason for this is that people in London did not learn of these events until well after the fact.

Also of interest is that Prime Minister Pitt’s illness resulted in his passing away in January, 1806.  His niece, Lady Hester Stanhope, was his nurse and housekeeper until the end.

Real places and events are sprinkled in the story and are too numerous to list.  However, the following might evoke a smile:

The prizefight outside Brighton did indeed take place, as did the dinner at the Johnstones’.

The wagers noted regarding Brummell’s matrimonial prospects can be found in White’s famous Betting Book.

And Beau Brummell did indeed gift Frederica, the Duchess of York with a costly lace dress for Christmas and a dog for her birthday.

The Beau Brummell Mysteries are:

DEATH ON A SILVER TRAY

THE TAINTED SNUFF BOX

THE BLOODIED CRAVAT

MURDER IN THE PLEASURE GARDENS

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www.rosemarystevens.com

Copyright © 2001 by Rosemary Stevens

Originally published by Berkley Prime Crime [9780425184417]

Electronically published in 2012 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.